


Beneath Bloodied Wings

by 3DMG Shenanigans (Lightningpelt)



Series: Of Gods and Shrines [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, And you thought Eren's rage fits were bad when he was a mortal, Blood and Gore, Gen, Inferred EreMika, Symbolism, whew
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-10 12:51:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1159943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightningpelt/pseuds/3DMG%20Shenanigans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chased relentlessly by bullies dead set on punishing the "heretic," Armin Arlert stumbles into a shine dedicated to The Jaeger, a vengeful and bloodthirsty god known for exacting revenge on behalf of the weak. Despite the macabre setting, he seems to be safe from the terrified bullies... and all this talk of gods and goddesses is just folklore, after all. He's quick to strike up fond friendships with Mikasa, the soft spoken girl who cares for the bloody little temple, and Eren, who treats the shine as his home (even if he never does help with the chores). </p><p>AU; Gen, with splashes of inferred EreMika</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Shrine in the Woods

**Author's Note:**

> [Fill for a prompt on the SnK Kink Meme] http://snkkink.dreamwidth.org/3666.html?thread=6488658#cmt6488658  
> Damn, I owe OP big time for this prompt- it's been a blast to write! I hope everyone else enjoys it, as well!  
> (Pssst... follow my SnK tumblr for updates regarding fanfics, new projects, and to see if my requests are currently open~ http://3dmgshenanigans.tumblr.com/ )

If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die? And if you wrong us shall we not revenge?  
(William Shakespeare) 

Armin Arlert’s breath was coming in ragged gasps as he ran, feet clattering clumsily over the cobblestones. He clutched at the pile of books in his arms; the pile of precious books that had gotten him into this mess. There were three- no, four of them, closing… keeping pace with him, deliberately; enjoying the chase. Their laughter wreathed around him- horrible, taunting, delighted. He knew that he was only amusing them by running like this, but he also knew that the inevitable beating would be a hundred times worse if he didn’t play along. 

Before the small blonde boy knew what was happening, the houses had begun to give way to trees. Hemmed in on all sides by jeering children, he had no chance to turn; no choice but to go forward and farther into the woods. His feet caught on the weeds growing up along the path and he stumbled, gasping as his body was pitched forward; although he maintained his feet for another few steps, he hit the ground shortly thereafter, books flying in all imaginable directions and knees scraping painfully along the cracked and neglected stones. He cried out softly as he fell, but was instantly scrambling back up. 

“Hey, you okay?” 

The sneering question was accompanied by a heavy foot set between the blonde’s shoulder blades. Hissing softly, Armin let himself be pushed to the ground. 

“I-I’m fine…” 

“Oh, he’s fine,” the older boy told his companions conversationally, pushing down harder on Armin’s spine. “No need to worry, then.” 

The group of boys snickered; Armin, panting raggedly beneath the heavy foot, pressed his hands to the cobblestones in an attempt to keep himself somewhat upright. Unfortunately, the bully noticed. With a sadistic laugh, he thrust his foot down, pinning his victim flat to the filthy ground. 

“This is what _heretics_ like you deserve!” he spat. The boys, Armin knew, had very little concept of what the term meant, but they had heard a teacher use it once, when embarrassing him in front of the whole class. It had since become a favorite insult of theirs. 

Letting himself go limp, Armin prepared, somewhat resignedly, to what he knew would come next. It was all he could do to shield his face from the worst of the kicks, gasping softly and whimpering as they rained down on his sides and back. But he couldn’t do anything in his own defense; he wasn’t a fighter by nature, and these boys were hardly interested in a battle of wits. 

Suddenly, the pressure on his shoulders lessened; in a flash of pure adrenaline-induced instinct, Armin scrambled from beneath the foot that held him and darted for the thickest part of the woods. The bullies took a moment to realize what was happening, but then they began to laugh again; the chase was always the most fun part, after all. Armin felt himself stumble, tripped repeatedly by roots and weeds; felt hot blood dripping into his eyes from a cut on his forehead. But he kept running, the sounds of the boys pursuing him spurring him on. 

_There!_ Through the trees, he could just see a structure- a shrine, he thought. Surely they wouldn’t dare follow him into a shrine; surely they wouldn’t risk the wrath of the local god. _Like I'm probably risking…_ he added grimly, although he had always been more skeptical than most about the tales of vengeful gods and goddesses who ruled over the village. 

Before he could second guess himself, though, the blonde was stumbling up the dusty marble steps; pitching forward and past the entrance, sprawling across the cold stone floor. He heard the steps of his pursuers slow, and struggled to sit up. 

“ _Shit_ , the little bitch when into The Jaeger’s shrine!” one of them hissed, but was promptly hushed by the others. 

“Don’t say that name!” another said worriedly. “Do you _want_ to get ripped limb from limb?!” 

“Yeah, yeah!” a second yelped. “Let’s get the hell outta here!” 

Armin managed to push himself into a lopsided sitting position in time to see his tormentors turn tail and flee; couldn’t help but smirk slightly, despite the blood all but blinding him. 

_Who would have known these fables would come in such handy?_

The Jaeger- Armin recognized the name, of course, from school and his own personal studies. Wiping the blood from his eyes, he turned and peered farther into the shrine that he had stumbled upon. The foyer, where he currently lay, was largely open, though surrounded by sturdy beams on all sides. Farther in there was a sheltered spot, lit by candles; the centerpiece of this small room was an altar which, at least from Armin’s distance, appeared to be dripping blood. In front of it were several baskets- for offerings –and pillows for worshipers to kneel upon. On first glance, it seemed to be deserted, apart from the gruesome goat’s head staring out from one of the baskets. 

Groaning softly, Armin pushed himself farther up; took stock of his injuries. If he was lucky, he might be able to make it home now without running into any more bullies… if he was exceptionally lucky. But he didn’t feel like risking it yet- he honestly didn’t feel like _moving_. So he let himself slump back down, resting his head against the cool stone floor. 

“Welcome to the shrine of The Jaeger.” 

Armin jolted upright at the sound of the voice, although he instantly regretted it as his head spun violently. A girl stood before him- no older than him, certainly, and dressed in red-and-white robes. As Armin tried to scramble to his feet, she knelt; placed one hand on his shoulder. 

“Welcome,” she repeated, her eyes cold but not unfriendly. 

“I-I apologize for my intrusion, miss!” the blonde squeaked, but she shook her head. 

“This shrine should serve as sanctuary for those fleeing injustice,” the girl said simply. “Do not think of it as intrusion.” 

Feeling himself relax slightly, Armin slumped back to the floor. “Th-thank you, um…?” 

“Mikasa,” the girl supplied. “My name is Mikasa.” 

“Mika… sa,” the boy repeated slowly, trying out the sound. “I’m Armin; Armin Arlert.” 

For the first time, the dark-haired girl smiled slightly. “Feel free to stay for as long as you like, Armin. I’ll fetch some bandages for your wounds.” 

Hardly able to believe her apparent kindness, Armin nodded mutely. Glancing again at the disembodied goat’s head, he shivered. _The Jaeger is supposed to be a vengeful god… although I suppose he won’t exactly mind me dripping blood everywhere…_ Then he chastised himself for letting his mind wander. _They're just fairy tales, all these mutterings about gods and goddesses and-_

“Here.” 

Armin looked up sharply to see that Mikasa had returned, a bundle of clean bandages in her hands. She offered her hand. 

“It’s more comfortable farther in; can you walk?” 

Armin nodded weakly, although he took the offered hand; pulled himself to his feet with Mikasa’s help. He gave a soft exclamation of pain as his ribs shifted, and realized that several were broken. _The beatings… have been getting so much worse lately…_

“Th-thanks…” he murmured, and then gasped in pain as he slumped down on a pile of soft cushions. Now that he was closer, he could confirm that the small alter was drenched in blood, some of it fresh and some of it long dried; there also appeared to be a drain in the center of the floor, which was admittedly unnerving- almost as unnerving as his new proximity to the gruesome offering. 

“Can you wrap your own wounds?” Mikasa asked, seeming genuinely concerned. Armin nodded shakily, reaching out and accepting the bandages. 

“Yeah, I can manage. Thanks again.” 

The girl smiled at him, and he felt warmed despite his macabre surroundings. “My pleasure. Let me know if there’s anything you need.” 

Armin nodded, and then began to tend to his wounds; the task was a familiar one, and he was much more preoccupied by Mikasa’s activities than his own. He watched as she tidied the shrine- swept the floor and drizzled fresh blood over the altar. By the time he had finished with the bandages, he had formed a theory. 

“Are you… a priestess?” 

Mikasa, much to his surprise, blushed; hid her face in the red scarf wrapped around her neck. “I-I… priestess, n-no… but I do care for the shrine…” 

Wondering why his question had flustered the young girl, Armin cocked his head. “… In training to become a priestess, then? Studying here?” 

Again Mikasa shook her head. “No… I'm the only one. But not a priestess, n-no…” 

_They say that priestesses are symbolically married to the deity they serve,_ Armin recalled vaguely. _Perhaps she doesn’t want to be considered “married” to such a violent deity as The Jaeger? Or has some other romantic interest?_ It was the only reason he could think of that would cause a young girl to react to the title in such a way. 

“Well, you’re doing a fine job of it,” he said, and the girl’s blush deepened. 

“… You think so?” 

“Well of _course_ he thinks so, Mikasa!” 

Armin jumped at the new voice; looked up sharply to find a young boy perched in the rafters above his head. He looked normal enough, with scruffy, near-shoulder-length brown hair and casual, worn clothes. The boy grinned, waving. 

“Yo, Armin! Welcome!” Then he turned back to the girl, continuing, “How could anyone think anything less, Mikasa? You do a fabulous job with the upkeep of this place!” 

Mikasa’s blush intensified, her eyes glowing with the praise. “Th-thank you, Master Eren!” 

“’Master Eren?’” Armin echoed, and then squeaked as the strange boy leaped down and landed lightly beside him. 

“Just Eren. I must’ve told Mikasa a thousand times, but…” The boy sighed good-naturedly. “Well, she’s fantastic, so she can call me whatever she wants.” He thrust out his hand. “Welcome!” 

Armin shook it; nodded. “Th-thank you, Eren! I'm…” Then he stalled, blinking. “You… already knew my name.” 

Eren grinned slyly. “I’ve kinda been listening in, ever since you stumbled into the shrine.” His eyes darkened suddenly, and Armin felt a shiver run up his spin. “Those _bastards_ who were chasing you should be _stoned_ at the next Festival of Retributions.” 

Trying to suppress his nervousness, the blonde reminded himself that this _was_ a shrine belonging to The Jaeger; anyone who served such a god must have a strong sense of personal justice, and a propensity for violence. But neither of those qualities seemed to be directed at him; in fact, he was rather warmed by the fact that they were on his behalf. 

Just as quickly as it had come, though, the darkness in Eren’s swirling eyes was gone; his warm, blue-green gaze fixed on Armin again, and he smiled. “Are you hungry? I’ll go fix something.” 

The blonde was about to object, but Eren was already moving away, humming softly as he did so. He seemed a carefree boy, other than the brief flash of anger- pleasant and warm. Turning to Mikasa, the visitor cocked his head. 

“Who…?” 

“That’s Master Eren,” the girl replied. Armin half expected her to say more, but she didn’t; simply gazed in the direction where the boy had vanished in a somewhat adoring manner. Fidgeting uncomfortably, Armin finally gathered the nerve to ask another question- hoping for a somewhat useful response. 

“He… was he serious? About wanting my bullies to be stoned at the next Festival of Retributions? Isn’t that for… more serious crimes?” 

“The original concept was for it to deal with crimes against the helpless,” Mikasa said, taking on an educational tone. “It’s become somewhat sensationalized over the years, but it was originally meant to bring about justice for those who couldn’t obtain it on their own- usually women and children.” 

Such a public stoning, Armin knew, was technically against the law. However, every two months one was sanctioned and held in front of the very shrine he was currently sitting in- the shrine belonging to The Jaeger. The vengeful god, it was said, found pleasure in the spectacle, as did those citizens who longed to see justice served. Armin had never particularly liked the barbaric methods, but he secretly relished the concept. 

“H-He wouldn’t actually submit a proposal, would he?” The criminal to be stoned was chosen, each Festival, by ballet- and the names on the ballet were decided by written proposal. Armin found himself horrified, if a bit thrilled, by the prospect. 

Mikasa smiled gently. “I doubt it. He knows how unlikely it is that they would be chosen, and then that it would only cause trouble for you.” 

Relaxing slightly, Armin nodded; he was about to speak again when Eren reappeared, a basket brimming with bread and fruit in his hands. The blonde had to blink, taking a long second look at the basket before deciding that yes, it looked to be the exact same vessel that had been holding the goat’s head a moment before; a quick glance at the altar confirmed that said basket, and offering, were missing. But as Eren crouched down, there seemed nothing whatsoever suspicious about the basket that he was holding out; no sign that it had once held a bloody animal head. 

“Go on,” Eren encouraged, with a smile; Mikasa didn’t hesitate to pick up a peach, and a moment later Armin complied. Fresh fruit was notoriously expensive, and the pear that he found himself biting into was absolutely perfect. But he didn’t dare question it as Eren grinned warmly at him. “So, you live in town?” 

Armin nodded, wiping at his mouth self-consciously before replying, “Yeah, although only a street or two in from the edge of the forest.” 

“And you go to school?” 

Again Armin nodded. “Of course.” 

Eren sighed, glancing at Mikasa. “I’ve always wondered what that would be like…! To go to school, I mean. Do you really learn about the whole world, the world beyond this little village?” 

The blonde’s face lit up. “Yes! Just today the teacher was showing us photographs of a place called the ocean- a huge body of salt water a long ways to the West!” 

Eren’s eyes were wide as he listened. “Wow! So, like… bigger than the lake at the edge of town?” 

“So much bigger,” Armin told him excitedly. “So big that you can’t even see the other side, for miles and miles and miles!” 

“Whoa!!” Eren exclaimed, and began to ask another question. He was cut off suddenly, however, by a small loaf of bread stuffed into his open mouth by Mikasa. 

“Eat, Master Eren,” she said, a bit scolding. “You forget how to take care of your body.” 

The brunette growled in apparent irritation, but tore of a chunk of the bread and swallowed, seemingly without chewing. “I wish you wouldn’t fret, Mikasa,” he muttered, but gulped down the rest of the bread without complaint. Then he turned back to Armin. “So this ocean- you say that the teacher had actual pictures?” 

“Yeah,” the blonde replied, reaching for another piece of fruit from the basket; most of her nervousness had dissolved, now that Eren had gotten him talking about his studies. “There are pictures in my textbook, which…” he trailed off, suddenly remembering his poor books, scattered a ways back on the forest path. “… I dropped my books when they were chasing me,” he finished regretfully. “I’ll have to pick those up on my way back home.” 

“Do you really have to go?” Eren asked, startling the blonde. 

“Um… well…” Momentarily at a loss, Armin shook his head. “I… I’m pretty sure I do.” 

“But why?” Eren asked; the glare that Mikasa shot him wasn’t lost on their visitor. 

“Well, because I have school in the morning, for one thing,” he said. 

“And parents, I'm sure,” the girl put in, but Armin shook his head. 

“Actually, no- I lived with my grandfather for most of my life; my parents died when I was six. But he died last year, so I live alone now.” 

“See?” Eren said, seeming vindicated. “You’ve got no real reason to leave! Don’t you get lonely?” 

“Well, yes…” Armin admitted reluctantly, “but I do _live_ there! I… I have plants that I have to water!” 

“Don’t force him, Master Eren,” Mikasa said scoldingly, and then turned apologetically to Armin. “He does this sometimes- latches onto things that interest him.” 

“I-I don’t mind, but… but I really can’t just _stay_ here!” Armin said, a bit flustered by the conversation itself. 

“But you’ll come visit?” Eren asked eagerly, leaning forward. “And would you bring those books next time- the ones with the pictures of the ocean?” 

The blonde brightened. “Sure! I can do that.” 

Instantly, Eren was on his feet. “Excellent! Then we’ll see you tomorrow, right, Mikasa?” 

The girl sighed, shaking her head. “I suppose so, _if_ young Armin agrees.” 

“Well, I want him to,” Eren huffed, crossing his arms. 

“That doesn’t actually _matter_ , Master Eren.” Now Mikasa seemed genuinely annoyed- almost like a parent or older sibling in the tone she used. 

“Fine, fine!” the brunette said, amused. “What do you think, Armin? I can guarantee those assholes won’t be bothering you any more if you hang out here.” 

For a moment, Armin couldn’t reply. But eventually he nodded. “S-sure, I could come back tomorrow… if you want, Eren.” 

Eren practically beamed. “Great!!” 

And so Armin left the shrine, bidding both his new friends farewell and not entirely sure what he had gotten himself into.


	2. The Children in the Woods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... So quickly updated because I already had it written, I was bored, and I wanted to post something. I'm actually working on chapter three right now. ^^ 
> 
> This… is entirely different from how I usually write the characters. ._. I usually like to emphasize the darker angles of Armin’s character, but this story just doesn’t present the opportunity! l’D Eren, too… kind of. But I found it believable, in this setting, and incredibly fun to write. So I hope everyone enjoys! 
> 
> (Pssst... follow my SnK tumblr for updates regarding fanfics, new projects, and to see if my requests are currently open~ http://3dmgshenanigans.tumblr.com/ )

_“Something of vengeance I had tasted for the first time; as aromatic wine it seemed, on swallowing, warm and racy: its after-flavour, metallic and corroding, gave me a sensation as if I had been poisoned.”  
_ (Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre) 

Armin wasn’t quite able to concentrate during class the next day. He found himself, instead, staring out the window; wondering what Mikasa and Eren were doing at the shrine awaiting him in the woods. The idea of visiting them again sent shivers of excitement and apprehension up his spine.

A sudden impact on the back of his head made him jump; the snickering of his classmates was deafening as he turned, only to be smacked in the face by another spitball. Spluttering softly and wiping the wet paper from his eyes, he turned back to his desk and put his head down, trying to ignore his classmates. 

_I wonder… if they really will leave me alone if I start hanging out at the shrine. They certainly didn’t want to enter it yesterday…_

By the end of the day, Armin had decided that it was most definitely worth a try. He had promised Eren, besides. So, bundling his books into his arms, the small blonde boy practically sprinted out of the schoolroom when the bell rang. His bullies didn’t see him slip out; in the time it took them to realize that he was gone, he had a sizable head start. 

After a fair amount of blind stumbling about in the forest, Armin managed to find his way back to the small shrine of the Jaeger, before his would-be-bullies had even caught up. After years of torment at their hands, he felt an electric thrill at the idea of escaping them at last, if only for the time being. He paused at the entrance; noted the blood-smeared archways and gothic carvings of skulls and demons that he had been in too much of a hurry to notice the day before. But it was too late to turn back, he told himself firmly; far too late, even if he had wanted to. 

“Armin!” 

The blonde felt most of the strange tension leave him at Mikasa’s friendly call; he ascended the little shrine’s stone steps to greet her, feeling a smile break out over his face. 

“Hi, Mikasa!” 

“You actually came back.” She seemed mildly surprised, but pleasantly so; Armin shuffled his feet. 

“Well… yeah. I said I would, didn’t I?” 

“Not everyone honors their word these days,” the girl replied sullenly, but quickly recovered her cheerfulness. “Master Eren will be very pleased.” 

“… Why do you call him ‘Master,’ Mikasa?” It was an honest question, even if Armin felt oddly nervous about asking it. He couldn’t think of any reason why he should fear the answer, or why Mikasa would withhold it from him… but asking still sent a thrill up his spine. The girl, however, only shrugged. 

“Master Eren will always be Master Eren to me. I have given my life to him.” 

_That’s probably why she didn’t like the title “Priestess,”_ Armin reasoned, padding after her as she made her way deeper into the shrine. _A priestess pledges all they are and ever will be to the deity they serve, yet this girl… certainly couldn’t do that, not with that type of connection to Eren._ That led him to wonder, of course, why she would place the strange boy above the god she apparently served, but he didn’t have much time to ponder it. 

“Armin!” 

Looking up, the blonde felt himself smile at the sight of Eren, hanging upside-down from the shrine’s rafters. Mikasa glared disapprovingly. 

“Master Eren! You forget that your body is breakable! Remember the last time?” 

“Oh, don’t fret, Mikasa!” the brunette scoffed, moments before the rafter gave under his weight with a sickening _crack_ ; Armin winced as he hit the ground with a pained “Oof!” and a cloud of dust. Instantly Mikasa was beside him, worriedly scraping away the splinters and debris on top of him. Armin burst out laughing, earning a disapproving stare from the girl. 

“Don’t laugh. It’ll only encourage him.” 

But Eren was laughing too, as he picked himself up. Brushing Mikasa off, he bounced to his feet, spreading his arms. “See? Not a scratch!” he gloated. Irritated, the girl stood; slapped him on the back of the head, making him wince. “Ow!” 

“You’re going to crack your immortal skull open one of these days!” she snapped, turning with a swish of robes and stalking over to the altar. Eren pouted after her. 

“I think we made her mad,” he told Armin, teasingly remorseful. The blonde snorted. 

“I think you made her mad; I had nothing to do with this.” 

“Fair enough,” Eren conceded, and then trotted after the girl, calling playfully, “Oi, Mikasa! Don’t be mad, please don’t be mad!” 

Armin felt his heart lift at the scene; he couldn’t fathom why these two would choose to serve such a dark and violent deity as The Jaeger- they seemed anything _but_ dark at the moment, with Mikasa keeping her nose disdainfully in the air and Eren sprawled on his back across the bloodied alter, wailing mournfully- if a bit mockingly –for her forgiveness. 

“Oh! Armin!” the boy cried suddenly, bolting upright fast enough to make his hair fluff out in all imaginable directions; Armin chuckled, and the brunette shook his head to get it out of his face. “Did you bring those books, per chance?” 

“Yeah!” the blonde replied happily, pleased that Eren had remembered. He sat and opened his textbook on the cool stone floor as the other scrambled off the altar and over to him, sliding up to sit next to him. “See? This is the ocean I was telling you about.” 

“Oh wow!” Eren exclaimed, gaping at the glossy photographs. “And you’re saying it’s all salt water?” 

“Every drop,” Armin confirmed. “And look at this,” he continued, turning the page. “There are these huge expanses of sand bordering it, called beaches!” 

“Whoa!” the brunette cried, leaning in so close that Armin could smell his breath- his putrid, rotten-flesh-scented breath. Trying hard not to cringe, the blonde turned the page again. 

“Yeah- and there are huge expanses of ice up at the poles; did you know that the earth is round, with two frozen poles?” 

“I had no idea!” the brunette gasped, and Armin tried not to speculate why, exactly, his breath smelled like a week-old corpse. “Really? They’re totally covered in ice?” 

“Completely,” the blonde said, nodding. “And there are these huge, floating chunks of ice, too- called glaciers!” 

“And what are these colors, in the sky?” Eren asked eagerly, pointing to the picture. 

“The teacher says those are called ‘Northern Lights,’” the student explained eagerly. “They’re… kind of… like fireworks, I suppose, except they don’t explode. And they just happen naturally, every night, up at the North Pole.” 

“Wow…!” Eren said again, then turned to the other boy. “Wouldn’t it be fantastic if we could go see them one day? And the ocean? And the beaches?” 

Armin tried to swallow his surprise at the excited question. “What? We…?” 

“Yeah!” the brunette exclaimed, leaping to his feet. “Leave this boring little town and this gruesome little shrine and go adventuring! Travel the world! You’d come, wouldn’t you, Armin? You’ll come, right?” 

Unsure if Eren was being serious or not, Armin stammered, “W-well… I have always wanted to travel, but Eren…” 

“’But Eren’ indeed,” Mikasa said, coming up from the brunette’s other side. “Master Eren, the world is a very dangerous place. And you of all people-” 

“Don’t be such a spoilsport, Mikasa!” Eren pleaded, sounding more than a bit like a petulant child. “You’d come, too! Just the three of us! We’d… we’d buy a boat and go sailing! We’d go sailing on this ocean and we wouldn’t stop until we got… until we got to the North Pole! And then we’d watch the Northern Lights every night! What do you think? Huh, Armin? What do you think?” 

“I think you’re getting ahead of yourself,” the blonde admitted, smiling a bit disbelievingly. “A boat, Eren? Sailing to the North Pole?” 

“Why not?” the brunette exclaimed, skipping a couple of steps backwards and colliding with the altar. Undeterred, he hopped on top of it; spread his arms; laughed. “Why not? The outside world is just out there, waiting for us to explore it!” 

“Now look what you’ve done,” Mikasa murmured, but there was a note of humor to her voice, as well. Armin laughed, relieved that she wasn’t genuinely angry. 

“Mikasa… Mikasa!” Eren said appealingly, going down on one knee and spreading his arms wider. “Say you’ll come, say you’ll come! My princess, my precious _rose,_ say you’ll accompany us!” 

The girl instantly flushed bright red, pulling up her scarf hurriedly to hide the lower half of her face. “M-Master Eren…!” she objected, but his eyes were alive with humor and affection. 

“Mikasa… Mikasa!” he cried again, and Armin giggled at his theatrics as he brought clenched fists to his chest, then reached out invitingly with both hands. “Say you’ll come adventuring with us, if only to provide two weary travelers with the respite of your beauty; your eyes, as deep and beautiful as the ocean itself!” 

The girl was practically steaming by this time, cross-eyed with embarrassment and apparently slightly dizzy, from the way she staggered. “M-Ma… Master… Eren…!” 

Laughing cheerfully, Eren hopped down from the altar; came over and grabbed the end of her scarf, tossing it over her head as he danced around her. “Say you’ll come!” he enjoined again, plaintively, one hand on her waist as he circled her. 

“I-I’ll… I’ll go…” the girl finally murmured, and Eren let out a whoop of triumph. 

“Yeah! The three of us, then!” Reaching out, he dragged a laughing Armin closer with his other hand. “The three of us, off to see the world! Away from the retched little town- we’ll set out for worlds unknown! Territories unexplored! 

“We’ll see the world! And it’ll belong to _us_ \- to just the three of us!” 

… … … 

Although Eren spoke of it frequently, the little trio never did leave the small town of Shiganshina to see the world… but Armin did come to visit the shrine each day after school. His bullies often found themselves frustrated; they knew where the object of their sport was, but didn’t dare invoke the wrath of the terrifying god that he had supposedly entered the protection of. Armin grew used to the gruesome setting; the morbid offerings that often ringed the blood-soaked altar. He also grew used to the brief flashes of darkness in Eren that weren’t quite frequent enough to ignite alarm; learned to avoid possibly triggering subjects, such as his bullies, for he didn’t like the way Eren’s hypnotic blue-green eyes swirled with bloodlust whenever he mentioned them. 

One particular autumn day, months after he had made his visits to the shrine a daily matter, Armin arrived to find it practically _overflowing_ with gruesome offerings. Eren himself was perched on the altar, the entrails of some unfortunate animal draped over him. 

“Don’t you just _love_ the Festival of Knives, Armin?” he asked, without looking up. “Business really picks up. Everybody wants to get in The Jaeger’s good graces. It’s fantastic!” 

The Festival of Knives- Armin had lived with the dreadful holiday his whole life. It was said that, for three nights out of the year, The Jaeger sanctified all righteous acts of violence; the townspeople took so-called justice into their own hands, using kitchen knives or shovels to hack the targets of various grudges to pieces, in the name of The Jaeger’s divine judgment. Armin usually spent all three nights locked in his house, only poking his head outside once the sun was well up and retreating again well before it touched the horizon. 

But just then, although it was the first day of said Festival, he found himself uncharacteristically cheerful- most likely an inappropriate, Pavlovian response to the offerings. The amount of offerings, he had observed, was directly proportional to the amount of food that Eren brought out from heaven knew where every night; the quality of the offerings, as well, was proportion to the quality of the food. This made logical sense, although Armin couldn’t for the life of him figure out the details of the system, no matter how he puzzled over it. 

“Thank goodness you’re here, Armin,” Mikasa grunted, surfacing from beneath a pile of offerings. She had a basket in her hands, filled to the brim with coins. “Help me dig for money offerings. We need to separate them out before sundown.” 

Nodding, somewhat reluctant, Armin slipped his shoes off at the entrance of the altar room and began to dig through the collection of gore. They were mostly the bodies of animals, some whole and most in pieces; occasionally there would be bottles of blood or eyeballs, but not often. There was also a decent amount of money to be found, as Mikasa had anticipated; Armin had collected about a hundred dollars’ worth of coins by the time he had crossed the room. 

“Yes, my servants, dig!” Eren called cheerfully, jokingly, from his seat on the altar. “Present me with the wealth of my kingdom!” 

“Eren…!” Armin objected, then slipped in a patch of blood with a squeak. Before he fell, however, Eren had materialized beside him, catching the back of his shirt. 

“Be careful,” he advised teasingly. “Mikasa might make _me_ start working if you hurt yourself.” 

Armin stuck out his tongue. “Jaeger forbid.”

Eren laughed, his eyes twinkling with humor. Armin wondered, not for the first time, what role he served at the shrine. He never seemed to lift a finger in terms of its upkeep- that all fell to Mikasa and, more recently, Armin himself. The only thing he had consistently seen Eren do was fetch food for the three of them- and he didn’t even know where that food came from or how it was delivered. Yet the brunette treated the shrine like home, and Mikasa as family; recently, Armin had come to fancy _he_ was included in the strangely enigmatic boy’s little “family.” 

“I think that’ll do,” Mikasa said after a moment, straightening and stretching her back. Glancing at the sun, nearly at the horizon, she placed her baskets of money on the altar itself. “Armin, could you come outside with me for a moment?” 

Bewildered, the boy set down his own basket and followed her without question, leaving Eren alone in the shrine; the brunette even waved as they left. 

“Tomorrow will be even more profitable,” Mikasa observed suddenly, making Armin jump slightly. “I wouldn’t be surprised if there were still worshipers in the shrine by the time you arrive.” 

“I’m surprised there weren’t any there today,” Armin admitted. “Considering how many sacrifices there are…” 

“You know the legends say that The Jaeger materializes to collect his tributes at sundown, don’t you?” the girl asked, and Armin shook his head helplessly; he _hadn’t_ heard that particular story, although he admittedly hadn’t done any extensive research in all the time he had spent in the shrine. “It’s not true, of course- you know that. But no one wants to take the risk of running into such a notoriously bloodthirsty deity, even if they have an offering in hand.” 

“I suppose that makes sense,” Armin admitted. It did clear up a bit of his confusion as to why they were always left in peace after sundown. He had seen worshipers before, of course, but the shrine seemed the busiest in the early morning through mid-afternoon, so most had already come and gone by the time school let out. Although, as Mikasa said, he of all people knew that the legend was bogus; he fancied that he would have noticed a vicious, all-powerful deity strolling around the shrine after dark. 

“Do you believe in The Jaeger, Armin?” 

The blonde blinked, taken aback by his friend’s candid question. Mikasa was watching him with curiously dark eyes- eyes that he felt, for some reason, he should be wary of. But Mikasa was his friend, and he wouldn’t have been able fear for her if he had tried. So instead, he answered honestly. 

“I don’t think so. I certainly think that _something_ started the legends, but… I think that, nowadays, that’s all they are- legends.” 

Mikasa nodded pensively. “I thought so…” she murmured, and Armin cocked his head. 

“Do you, Mikasa?” 

“Yes,” the girl replied, without hesitation. “Yes, I do believe in The Jaeger. He saved my life, after all.” 

Armin had opened his mouth to ask his friend to elaborate, but she turned before he got the chance, walking briskly back toward the shrine. Mouth hanging open, it took the blonde a moment to shake off his surprise and confusion enough to follow. 

“Mikasa…” he began, but found her unreceptive. Sighing, he resigned himself to living with the unanswered question a while longer; if Mikasa felt like telling him, she would… eventually. 

“You’ve experienced The Jaeger’s power too, Armin,” she said, catching him by surprise, “even if you never realized it.” Her voice was surprisingly critical, as if chastising him for not noticing on his own. She reached over; touched the side of his chest and making him jump. “You had three broken ribs the first time you came to us; didn’t you notice that they were healed by the time you went home?” 

Armin opened his mouth, then paused. _… Did I have broken ribs that first day…?_ His memory seemed to confirm what Mikasa was saying, although he had written off the fast-healing injury as severe bruising that he had mistaken for broken bones, in his panic. He began to tell Mikasa as much, but the girl had quickened her pace; was already some distance ahead of him. Sighing in irritation, he swallowed his questions and rational arguments, following in silence. 

They arrived back at the shrine within minutes, and Armin couldn’t help but gape at what awaited them. They golden rays of the dying sun illuminated Eren, still perched upon the blood-stained altar, surrounded by mountains of food where the offerings had sat not so long ago. _We couldn’t have been gone for ten minutes…! How…?!_ There were baskets upon baskets of fruits and bread, huge sides of meat, piles of pastries and desserts… Mikasa seemed unsurprised; Eren, downright pleased with himself. 

“Don’t you love the Festival of Knives, Armin?” he asked cheerfully, repeating his earlier question. 

“I’m starting to!” the blonde admitted, looking around in wonder. “This… is all…?” 

“And it won’t keep until tomorrow!” the brunette chirped, picking up an apple and examining the flawless red skin. “I’m glad we’ve got you around, this year- it sucks to let as much of it go to waste as we ended up letting go last year.” 

“Eren, even with three of us,” Mikasa said reasonably, but she looked fairly cheerful as well. Eren bit into his apple with a loud _crunch_ , then grabbed a pear and tossed it to Armin. 

“Your fave, right, bro? Dig in!” 

Armin didn’t need to be told twice; Mikasa, too, tucked into the food alongside him, and for a while there were only the sounds of dedicated eating. Then, as all three of them began to slow, they began to talk, as well. They talked well into the night, about frivolous and delightful things, nibbling their ways through the feast as they did so. They laughed and joked, even Mikasa, drunk on food and one another’s company. For the first time that Armin could remember, the Festival of Knives actually felt like a festival- lighthearted, joyous, and spent in the company of friends. 

“I hope you planned on staying the night, dude,” Eren said, at some point, and Armin didn’t even hesitate in his answer. 

“Of course!” 

… … … 

When Armin woke the next morning, the first thing he was aware of was the horrible stench of rotten meat. Bolting upright, he covered his nose with both hands and looked around the dimly lit shrine, surprised to find himself surrounded by maggot-infested corpses, in pieces all around him. 

“Ah, Armin. I’m glad you're awake. Could you give me a hand?” 

Looking over in surprise at Mikasa’s gentle voice, Armin found her after a moment in the dim light, broom in hand and scarf pulled up over her face. Sitting up farther, he looked around, disoriented; the shrine was still mostly dark, barely lit by the pre-dawn light filtering in through the surrounding trees. He couldn’t spot Eren, but the boy, he reasoned, was probably still asleep among the plentiful shadows. 

But, more preoccupying than Eren’s whereabouts were the decaying offerings scattered about the shrine. Wrinkling his nose against the odor, he turned to Mikasa. 

“Where did all of this come from?” 

“Last night,” the girl replied, holding out a broom. “Come on; the worshipers will begin filtering in soon. We need to have this place cleaned up by then.” 

_Last… night…?_ Armin wondered disconnectedly. He certainly didn’t _remember_ there being rotting meat all over the place while he, Mikasa and Eren had been eating and talking into the wee hours of the morning, and he fancied he would have noticed something like that. It occurred to him briefly how preoccupied Mikasa and Eren sometimes seemed about the matter of avoiding leftover food, but he dismissed it as non sequitur and rose, uncomplaining; accepted the broom Mikasa handed him. 

After several minutes of uninterrupted sweeping, however, it became quite obvious that there was something blatantly missing from the shrine. “Mikasa, where’s Eren?” 

“Resting,” she replied simply, not pausing in her cleaning. After a moment, Armin decided to press the issue, for once. 

“Where? I mean, is there another room, one I've never seen? A space beneath the altar, perhaps?” 

“Armin, he’s resting,” Mikasa repeated, her tone inviting no more questions. “I don’t know when he’ll be back; I never do.” 

The blonde winced; his friend’s voice was strained with worry, and he was compelled to ask, “He… goes off to… _rest_ … often?” 

“Every night,” the girl replied softly. “He… used to stay away, too, sometimes for a week or more.” Then she looked up; smiled at the blonde. “But ever since you’ve started visiting, he’s come back every day.” 

Armin felt a shiver run through him, suddenly reminded of how much he didn’t know about his two closest friends. So he looked down; tried to push the unsettling questions from his mind and concentrated on his sweeping. 

The dawn light strengthened as the two friends worked; before the sun made a formal appearance, the floor of the shrine was spotless, although Mikasa had made sure to drizzle fresh blood across the altar. Armin wiped a sweaty shock of blonde hair from his face; noted with some mundane apprehension that it would be quite a task to make it home and then to school on time. He briefly entertained the idea of ditching, then dismissed the notion as foolish. 

And then the screaming began. 

With a curse that didn’t become a young, robe-clad girl, Mikasa bolted for the woods; Armin, with barely a heartbeat’s hesitation, followed. They hadn’t gone far when they came upon him, nearly unrecognizable beneath the coating of gore and twisted snarl. 

“Eren!” 

“Master Eren!” 

Hissing softly, the brunette let himself fall to his knees; raised one hand and clawed at his face. As Armin watched, the blood covering his friend from head to toe began to smoke in the sun, evaporating like dew in the morning light. Mikasa didn’t flinch from it, rushing to his side and lending him her shoulder; emboldened by her actions, Armin came up on Eren’s other side. He looped his friend’s arm around his neck as the trio trudged back toward the shrine; the boy’s skin felt unnaturally hot to the touch. 

“Hey, Armin…” 

The blonde glanced over, surprised at his friend’s raspy voice; the horrible growl underlying the words. “Y-Yes, Eren?” 

“Are you afraid of me?” 

“O-of course not!” Armin exclaimed, not entirely comprehending the question but answering honestly. 

“Then why are you shaking?” 

“Because I'm worried about you!” the other replied instantly, his voice quivering with strain; he stumbled, and all three of them lurched. 

Eren smirked; closed his eyes as his two friends half-dragged him back toward the shelter of the shrine. “Is that so…?” 

“Of course!” the blonde snapped, exasperated. “Eren, you’re my friend! How could I be anything but worried?” 

The young boy smiled; let himself be pulled into the shrine and lifted onto the freshly-bloodied altar, although most of the coppery liquid that had been covering him had already evaporated. “Hey, Armin? One more question.” 

The blonde huffed, trying to quell his trembling; trying to decide if he was more worried or confused or something else altogether. “Sure, Eren; what?” 

The brunette huffed; laughed slightly, although his eyes had closed. “Don’t you hate the Festival of Knives?” 

“… I'm starting to.”


	3. The God in the Woods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with this, Beneath Bloodied Wings is officially~ complete~! :'D I had a blast writing it; a thousands thanks to everyone who's left comments and kudos. ;u; Special thanks to OP Feneris for the beyond amazing prompt. I owe you big time. <3    
>  Without further ado, I hope everyone enjoys the conclusion~    
>    
>  Psst... follow my SnK tumblr for updates regarding fanfics, future projects, and requests~   
>  http://3dmgshenanigans.tumblr.com/   
> 

  
_To exact revenge for yourself or your friends is not only a right, it's an absolute duty._  
(Stieg Larsson) 

Despite Mikasa's repeated assurances, Armin didn’t go to school that day; he simply couldn’t fathom leaving his friends in such a state. The first of the worshipers started filtering in all too soon, and Armin was somewhat near panic; Mikasa, however, showed him a small alcove beneath the altar that he had never been made aware of, already set up with blankets and pillows. Wondering just how often things like this happened, the blonde tried not to shiver as he helped to move Eren, whose eyes had yet to reopen, into the little hiding spot.

“Wear these,” the girl said, pressing a set of robes into Armin's hands. “It won’t do to have you in civilian clothes, not today.” 

Reluctantly, Armin donned the priest’s clothing; it was uncomfortably soft against his skin, made of expensive, thin fabric. He felt more than a bit dishonest, dressing like a priest might when he didn’t even _believe_ in The Jaeger… but Mikasa knew about his doubt, and didn’t seem to bat an eye. 

“Stand on the other side of the altar,” the girl instructed, pointing. “Bow to the visitors; thank them for their offerings. Don’t interact with them otherwise.” 

Nodding shakily, Armin took up his position. _Is this… what Mikasa does every day…?_ he wondered vaguely. _And… does Eren, as well…?_

“Mikasa-dono,” one man said, bowing before her, tone respectful. “Is the Young Master about?” 

Armin’s ears perked; he’d never thought that anyone but Mikasa referred to Eren as “Master.” It had to be Eren that the man was asking after, didn’t it? 

“He is resting,” the girl replied, her voice stern. “The Festival of Knives is a busy time for him, as you should know.” 

“But… I wished to speak with him-” the worshiper began. 

“Leave your offering and go,” Mikasa cut him off, her tone final. “The Master will have no visitors today.” 

_Master…_ Armin heard several other people ask for Eren by that title; heard Mikasa turn them away, sounding annoyed and defensive. His mind was working, without his permission- forming ideas that he discarded almost instantly; spinning theories that he couldn’t begin to believe. 

The hours ticked by steadily; the piles of offerings grew. In addition to the usual, there were several human bodies brought before the sticky altar- most likely victims of the previous night’s Jaeger-sanctified violence. Mikasa didn’t bat an eye and, although feeling slightly sickened, Armin forced himself not to flinch either, even when he recognized the head of one of his own classmates staring blankly out of a wicker basket. 

At around noon, Mikasa shooed the worshipers out of the shrine. They yielded willingly to the small priestess; in some cases, fearfully. “Stand here,” she told Armin shortly, pointing to the front of the altar. “If anyone approaches, tell them to come back later.” 

“A-Are you going to tend to Eren?” the blonde ventured to ask, and received a hard stare. 

“Yes.” 

Shivering slightly, Armin nodded; obeyed the girl’s order and stood guard where indicated. He heard her moving around, but didn’t dare turn to look. Then she began to speak, her words quiet, muffled beyond recognition, but her tone certainly strained. 

“Mikasa…” 

A cold shudder raced up Armin’s spine at the other voice- Eren’s, undoubtedly, but raspy, slurred; almost a growl. Mikasa made a soft shushing noise, murmuring soothingly. There was a sudden scuffling; a loud gasp; nails scraping across the altar and a cry from Mikasa. Armin tried to turn, but his body was frozen, his joints locked and his muscles stretched taught. A moment later, the noise subsided; was replaced, once again, by Mikasa's soothing murmurs. 

When the girl reappeared, Armin’s body seemed to relax at last, allowing him to turn to her. Her expression and posture spoke of exhaustion; for a moment, the blonde didn’t want to burden her further. But he needed to ask. 

“What’s wrong with him?” 

“Nothing,” the girl answered tiredly, shaking her head. “No, this is… perfectly normal, especially for this time of year.” 

“Th-the Festival, you mean?” Armin asked weakly; his friend nodded. 

“He always gets this way. But he should be fine later… by nightfall, at least.” 

Armin nodded shakily; the worshipers were beginning to return, and he saw Mikasa mask her apparent distress easily as she straightened. He, too, pushed the topic of Eren forcefully from his mind, focusing instead on the people filtering through the tiny shrine. 

Time ticked by slowly; bowing, bowing, murmuring thanks, and bowing again. Noon passed; the sun began to slip down toward the horizon although, as Mikasa had predicted, the flow of worshipers didn’t slow. Armin was privy to some of their whispered prayers- pleading with The Jaeger for the strength to carry out justice that night, or imploring the pitiless deity for mercy in the face of those they had wronged. He was unsure which he found more distasteful. 

Then, an hour or so before sundown, there was a scuffling at the back of the altar; Armin turned in surprise to see Eren, although seeming shaky, pushing himself up. 

“Mikasa…” the boy rasped, and instantly she was there. A few of the worshipers leapt to their feet as well, but didn’t move; two actually fled, seeming terrified, much to the blonde boy’s confusion. “Get them out… tell them… _to go away…_ ” 

“Master Eren will have no more visitors!” the girl called, instantly. “Leave us, now! Return tomorrow if you have unfinished prayers!” 

Within minutes, the shrine was empty; Armin stared after the worshipers, some of whom had left personal belongings in their haste to obey the delicate priestess’ order. But his attention was quickly drawn to Eren, who was grasping at the blood-slicked altar with twitching fingers as he pulled himself up onto it. 

“Eren…!” 

“Armin…” the brunette sighed, seeming unsurprised as he collapsed onto his back. Laughing slightly, he reached up; Armin took his hand without hesitation, alarmed by how feverish his skin felt. “… You hung around. Thanks…” 

“O-Of course…!” the blonde exclaimed, moving forward slightly and grasping his friend’s hand tighter, with both of his. “No way could I leave…!” 

“I’m glad…” the boy muttered, his glittering eyes open, just a crack. “Damn you’re brave…” 

Unsure of how to interpret the comment, Armin didn’t reply; glanced worriedly at Mikasa. The girl didn’t seem alarmed, so he tried to suppress his own worry. Shaking her head slightly, she stooped; began to gather up the offerings. 

“Help me separate the money again, Armin. There won’t be any more visitors tonight.” 

Nervously, giving Eren’s hand one final squeeze, the blonde obeyed. While his two friends worked, the brunette pushed himself up into a sitting position; his eyes seemed even clearer than usual, unnatural in their intensity as he stared into the distance, past his friends and past the shrine itself. 

“Do you mind if I eat something, Armin?” he asked suddenly; when the blonde looked up, confused, he smiled a bit sheepishly. “I know you probably haven’t eaten all day, and it’s wretched of me to eat in front of you… but I feel like I'm going to faint if I don’t.” 

“O-Of course I don’t mind!” the blonde squeaked; he had noticed the strange lack of both a breakfast and luncheon meal, but the constant, metallic scent of blood had coated his tongue and kept his appetite at bay. He did wonder, however, what food Eren intended to eat, as there didn’t seem to be anything edible in any corner of the shrine. 

Eren’s smile widened slightly with relief. “Damn, you’re a real friend… brave, too…” he murmured, repeating his earlier sentiment. 

“Master Eren…” Mikasa’s voice held a warning, and the blonde glanced at her curiously. 

“Strong stomach, too,” the brunette continued listlessly, heedless of her. Armin looked back at him just in time to see him lift a piece of raw meat to his lips; sink his teeth into the bloody flesh and tear a strip from it before swallowing it whole. The blonde couldn’t suppress a choked cry of alarm at the sight, and Eren raised his eyebrows questioningly. 

“A-Are you sure you should be eating that…?” Armin asked, weakly; part of him was irrationally convinced that he simply shouldn’t question it, and so he framed his concerns carefully. “Raw… meat… c-can contain parasites…” 

“’Parasites?’” Eren echoed, and then laughed slightly. He took another bite, some color returning to his wan face as he swallowed. “Mikasa, he’s worried about parasites.” 

“As well he should be, Master Eren,” the girl said tiredly, but had already returned to her task. “You shouldn’t eat the raw offerings like that.”

“But I feel so much better already,” Eren objected; Armin, although reluctant, couldn’t help but admit that it was true. Swallowing the last of the red flesh, the brunette lapped at his bloody palm. Then he lay back across the altar, stretching out until he could grab Mikasa around the waist. He pulled her closer to him, causing her to spill part of the money she had collected and smearing bloody handprints along her robe. “Mikasa… oh Mikasa, have a _heart_ ,” he implored playfully, then reached down offered her a literal sheep’s heart from the pile. 

Armin expected Mikasa to scold him, but she only sighed tiredly. “Master Eren, please don’t…” 

“Really!” the brunette insisted, sitting up and fiddling with the heart in his hands; tearing it into strips with his stained nails. “I want to share everything that’s mine, you know that! Armin,” he called after a moment, seeming to remember the blonde’s presence, “do you want to try some, if Mikasa won’t?” 

Before Armin could even begin to formulate a response, Mikasa placed her hands over Eren’s; knelt, and ate some strips of meat out of his hands. “I’ll indulge you, Master Eren,” she said softly. “Don’t subject Armin to such things.” 

Armin felt a thrill of horror bolt up his spine as he watched Eren’s smile widen in satisfaction; watched Mikasa obligingly eat the strips of raw heart that he fed her. But he didn’t let himself consider it; simply resumed his task, collecting the coins mixed in with the more gruesome offerings to The Jaeger. Mikasa swallowed the last of her grisly meal uncomplainingly; licked the blood carefully from her lips, until there was no trace of it left, and then turned to Armin. 

“I apologize. Master Eren is a bit unstable during the Festival.” 

“N-No, I understand,” the blonde replied, shaking his head slightly. He was, in fact, more disturbed by his willingness to accept what he had just witnessed than the event itself. Eren chuckled cheerfully, the sound sending shivers up his friend’s spine. 

“That’s our Armin! Such a brave friend he is, our little Armin!” 

… … … 

Armin, although resigned to the fact that he would smell of blood for the rest of his life, excused himself for a brief bath in the river just before sundown; Mikasa had simply nodded, murmuring something about watching out for himself. Although the blonde, lowering himself into the chilled water, actively tried to be concerned or disgusted by his friends’ behavior, he found he wasn’t able to; found he was far too attached to them already, and willing to accept even such things without much question. 

So he dried himself; slipped back into the robes that Mikasa had lent him; returned to the shrine without hesitation. 

“Armin! Welcome, welcome!” Eren called, in his typical, cheerful manner; Mikasa, admittedly, looked a bit surprised. “Diner is served, bro!” 

Indeed, the food had appeared to replace the offerings mysteriously, as per usual. And Armin smiled; though he had the feeling that he should have been unable to eat for nausea, no such obstacle existed. No, he felt just as at ease as he had always been, despite it all; unconcerned with the fact that Eren still had blood smeared around his mouth. 

“Thanks, Eren! Everything looks delicious!” 

… … … 

Armin was unsurprised, the next morning, at waking to piles of rotting meat. He simply rose, greeted Mikasa warmly, and set to tidying the shrine before the worshipers arrived. Eren was once again missing, but Armin’s concern wasn’t as sharp as it had been the previous morning. 

“Armin…” 

The blonde turned; his friend sounded uncertain, cautious. “Yes?” 

Mikasa blinked, seeming surprised. “Why aren’t you frightened?” she asked simply, moving forward slightly. “Why aren’t you frightened of Master Eren; of me?” 

Armin cocked his head, although his heart was fluttering inside his chest. “Why should I be?” 

“Well, you don’t even believe in The Jaeger…” the girl said slowly, “but you see Eren behaving… like he did yesterday. And there are so many unexplained things that go on, and you’ve never even asked about them. You should be distancing yourself from us by now, not adapting to life in the shrine.” 

“But you two are my friends,” the blonde answered honestly, with a hesitant smile. “And… you're the only friends that I have. You’ve been nothing but good to me; I can’t question you. Eren… he could be scary to some, certainly, but I know he’d never harm me; I have to believe that. And the same goes for you.” 

Mikasa softened visibly, still seemingly uncertain, but pleased. “Oh…” she murmured, shrinking slightly so that her mouth was hidden beneath her scarf. “You are… different. That’s why Master Eren has taken such a liking to you… that’s what he’s always saying…” 

Armin tried not to read into her words; he had learned to resist the urge to do that, whenever either of his friends began speaking cryptically. “I’ll stay for as long as you’ll have me,” he said seriously. “I’m happy here, with you two… my friends. I might not believe in or care about The Jaeger and the legends surrounding this place, but I care about you two.” 

Mikasa closed her eyes briefly; shook her head. “You have no idea…” she murmured briefly, “but I do appreciate it. Master Eren and I care about you as well; for as long as you stay here, we’ll make sure no harm comes to you.” 

… … … 

Eren hadn’t returned by the time the worshipers started to filter in; Armin wondered briefly if his teacher would think he had been killed as a part of the Festival, seeing as he had broken his perfect attendance record twice in a row. But the blonde found it hard to think about school as he greeted and thanked worshipers; bowed repeatedly and drizzled fresh blood over The Jaeger’s altar. 

The day passed in such a way; uneventful, mechanical. Armin found himself looking forward to the end of the Festival; glad that it was already the last day of it. He wanted nothing more than to return to the carefree afternoons spent with his friends, without having to worry about overflowing offerings or Eren’s strange spells and absences. By mid-afternoon, Mikasa had gone into town on an unexplained errand; Armin hadn’t asked, and she hadn’t volunteered the information. But it was fairly easy to keep up with the slight influx of people and their offerings, and the blonde even relished the momentary solitude. 

Sundown grew ever-nearer; the last of the worshipers departed with a hasty word to Armin, who in turn bowed and murmured gratitude on behalf of The Jaeger for the generous offering left at the altar. Assuming that the flow of devotees was finished for the day, Armin sighed and turned to the task of picking through the offerings, separating out money from flesh. It was a mindless task, and he let himself relax completely; the shrine felt like the safest place in the world, even without the living pretense of his two friends. It was true, he reflected, that it felt more like home than his own tiny apartment, and he let his thoughts turn to considering a permanent move, if Eren and Mikasa would have him. 

That was when the stone struck him on the back of the head. 

“Ow!” With the soft exclamation, the blonde turned; felt his eyes fly wide as he spotted the trio of boys, huddled at the entrance to the shrine. One of them laughed aloud; the other two snickered, crossing their arms. 

“Lookit the little heretic!” one of them jeered, and Armin felt hot fear flare up inside him. “Sorting his devil’s offerings like a good little servant!” 

The blonde backed up; ran smack into the altar and jarred his bones with the force of it. He had forgotten the terror of this moment, of being cornered by those who would do him harm; he hadn’t, he realized slowly, felt true fear since Mikasa and Eren had begun to look after him. Yet there they were, the bullies, standing just out of reach; sneering at him, rabid for a taste of his misery after being denied for so long. 

“He’s wearing a dress!” another boy yelped, and his companions laughed. “Like a good little priestess, huh? Your hubby won’t mind if we borrow you for a minute, will he?” 

Trying to suppress his shivering, Armin squared his shoulders; forced himself to look braver than he felt. _Brave… Eren… says… I'm brave…_ “You’re too afraid to take one step into this shrine!” he declared, despite the tears pricking at his eyes. “You wouldn’t dare!” 

The boys wavered; glanced at one another. But Armin’s declaration was as good as a challenge. Soon one of them, the biggest of the three, had crept forward; placed one food on the lowest of the marble steps. 

“It ain’t like we’ll die the second we do,” he sneered, seeming relieved. “So what’s stopping us?” 

_The Jaeger…_ Armin thought, but couldn’t bring himself to say it. He couldn’t claim the protection of a god he didn’t actually believe in, could he? If his bullies didn’t believe in the god’s wrath, either, then he was as good as defenseless, inside or outside of the shrine. 

“Yeah, yeah!” another of the boys chirped, taking the steps in three bounds; landing on the main level of the shrine and stalking forward. “The little _heretic’s_ been hiding here for too long! We’ll teach you a lesson, oh that we will!” 

Armin felt his breath hitch; his body wouldn’t obey him, no matter how much he wanted to run. He couldn’t run; where would he go? The second he stepped out from the shrine… but what good was a shrine that offered no protection from evil? 

The blonde, as it so happened, had no more time for wondering; they were upon him, and his wrist was seized brutally by the boy who reached him first. Shrieking softly with pain, he felt something snap; felt his wrist dislocate. 

“We’ll _drag_ you out of your little hiding spot,” one of the boys jeered, and Armin winced back. 

“Just try.” 

Face twisting with rage, the boy holding Armin’s wrist tightened his grip, causing the blonde to whimper in pain. A moment later, though, agony exploded up his spine as a foot landed in the small of his back, effectively bringing him to his knees. 

_Brave… Eren… says… I'm brave…_

“I’m not afraid of you, not anymore!” Armin cried, struggling to his feet and rewarded with a brutal punch to the jaw. 

“Little bitch!” one of the bullies snapped, spitting in his face. “Think you’re something, huh? Worthless little bitch!” 

_Brave… you’re…_

He knew, as he always had, that the beating would be worse if he resisted; so much worse. It always was. Better… to just play along; yes, much better. 

However… 

“I won’t give you the satisfaction!” Eyes flashing, the blonde forced his aching spine to straighten; forced his head up, despite his tears and trembling. “I won’t!” 

With a snarl of rage, one of the bullies threw him against the altar; Armin gasped in pain, feeling blood bubble up in his throat. He shut his eyes tightly; raised his arms, ready to ward off the worst of the blows to his face… but the blows never came. Slowly, cautiously, he let his eyes open a crack; saw, with some confusion, that a sudden darkness had fallen over himself and his would-be tormentors, despite the fact that the sun was still peering over the horizon amid a fiery sunset. The boys, so pompous and ferocious before, were staring at something just behind their would-be victim, their faces transformed into masks of terror. Armin felt his own eyes fly wide, although he couldn’t bring himself to turn around. 

“Hey, Armin… are you alright…?” 

The voice was deep- rasping; with the words came a rush of putrid air, stinking of rotting flesh and metallic blood, that ruffled Armin’s hair. Yet it was unmistakable, as well. 

“Yes, Eren. I'm fine.” 

“Good…” the creature behind him breathed heavily. A tremor pulsed through the shrine, radiating from the altar just behind the blonde boy; perhaps, rather, from the being standing atop it. 

“W-we weren’t gonna… we was just playing around a bit…!” one of the bullies squealed; the other two seemed mute with fear. There was horrible chuckle, then, one that rocked the tiny shrine and sent ice crawling across even Armin’s skin. 

“Oh? Armin… come here. Be brave.” 

_Brave… brave._ Slowly, almost mechanically, Armin turned; turned his back to his would-be bullies and faced his friend, who stood proudly atop the altar, as he often did. Yet this was Eren… and not Eren, at the same time. Armin blinked rapidly, his eyes trying to make sense of what he was seeing and failing to. 

Eren was reaching out with one hand, although his thin fingers tapered into vicious looking claws. His teeth were bared, but there were no lips drawn back over them-just those rows of teeth, far too large for his face. He opened his mouth slightly to draw in a breath; Armin saw his jaw unhinge, attached to his skull only by strands of muscle and sinew. His pointed ears poked out from beneath his shaggy brown hair, angled forward like an animal’s; his eyes, although that same gorgeous, green-blue hue, were swirling with the madness that Armin so disliked, seeming to bio-luminesce in the ever-dimming light. 

Eren chuckled, noticing Armin’s inspection; the sound was throaty and course, much different from his usual, lighthearted laughter. “Frightened?” he asked softly, his eyes glowing with danger. 

And, surprising even himself, the blonde answered honestly, “No,” even as tears spilled from his eyes. 

Eren smiled; at least, it appeared to be a smile. “Brave little Armin,” he murmured, and then directed his attention to the three children still cowering before the altar. “You _dare_ to do such things, in The Jaeger’s own shrine, and to one of my own precious friends?!” 

“N-No!!” the biggest of the boy’s shrieked, shrinking away. “I-I mean…!” 

“We’re sorry!!” screamed another, sobbing harder than Armin ever had, snot dripping from his nose. “We’re so god damn sorry!!” 

Eren’s eyes narrowed, his teeth grinding loudly; Armin had taken his offered hand, and he helped the small boy up onto the altar. “Pity,” he snarled, without a hint of humor. “It’s far too late for apologies.” 

The next thing Armin was aware of was an earth-shattering roar, the likes of which he had never thought possible. It harbored all the hatred, all the bloodlust that the world could possibly have contained; all the rage and so much more. A specter had begun to flicker behind Eren, black and flaming in form, green-blue eyes shining far brighter than the setting sun; unnaturally huge maw open slightly; brown hair whipping about in the carrion-scented wind that its own presence was whipping up. 

And then it was Eren’s turn to roar. 

… … … 

Mikasa returned, just after sunset, to find that Eren had returned. While not tremendously surprised, she was pleased. He and Armin were seated together on the altar, chatting animatedly; nibbling at some fruit, seeing as the offerings had been replaced with a lavish supper, as per usual. She was about to join them when she noticed, much to her surprise and hesitant horror, the three baskets in front of the altar. 

“Master Eren…” she began softly, her eyes fixed on the offerings, “did you… forget something?” 

“No,” the brunette answered innocently, tearing a strip from his apple. “They were sacrifices made after the sun set. By the law, I can’t touch them ‘til morning.” 

Mikasa took a step forward, her eyes darting to Armin and then back to Eren. “After… sunset?” 

“Of course,” the brunette answered playfully. “This is The Festival of Knives; all killings are supposed to take place after dark, right?” 

“Where are their bodies, if they were killed after dark?” Mikasa asked dryly, and Eren shrugged innocently. 

“I don’t know. Do you, Armin?” 

“I certainly don’t,” the blonde said, and then took a bite of his pear. 

Mikasa sighed; rubbed one temple with her fingertips. “He knows, doesn’t he?” 

“Well of course he knows, Mikasa!” Eren exclaimed. “What did you think, we’d be able to keep it from him forever?” 

“How long _were_ you planning on keeping it from me?” Armin asked curiously, leaning forward. “You broached the subject of my belief in The Jaeger once; why not just tell me then?” 

“Would you have believed me?” the girl asked tiredly; the human boy shrugged. 

“Well, no,” he admitted, “but you certainly had enough proof, if you wanted to force me to believe it.” 

“Well there’s your problem right there,” Eren declared, leaning back and tucking his legs beneath him. “Mikasa _hates_ the idea of _forcing_ anyone to believe in me. ‘They have to come on their own, Master Eren,’” he mimicked, and Armin snorted. 

“You realize that I was actively trying _not_ to find out, don’t you?” he asked the young girl. “I was doing everything I could to ignore all the obvious questions and their answers. I never would have acknowledged it, if it hadn’t been thrown in my face.” 

“Perhaps I didn’t like the idea of taking that choice away from you,” Mikasa retorted, surprisingly hostile. “I was forced to believe; it was a horrible shock to me!” 

“And do you regret finding out what he really is?” Armin pressed; the girl sighed. 

“Firstly, I didn’t ‘find out,’” she said. “I didn’t know Master Eren before… before.” 

“’Before…?’” the blonde broached gently, and again Mikasa sighed. 

“Before my parents were killed. I was to be sold into the slave trade. But Master Eren intercepted the traders; tore them apart before my eyes, undoubtedly similar to what he just did to those three,” she said, motioning to the heads staring out from the baskets. 

“I was a wild little beastie when I found Mikasa,” Eren put in, smiling fondly. “But I brought her back to my shrine anyway. At the time, I just liked the idea of having a devoted wife to take care of all the chores, but as time went on…” 

“That’s why I don’t consider myself a priestess,” Mikasa said, answering one of Armin’s long-time questions. “I’m not simply the wife of some almighty god- I'm Master Eren’s friend; I'm Master Eren’s family.” 

“And now you’re part of that family, dude!” Eren exclaimed excitedly, slapping Armin’s shoulder. 

“If you want to be,” the girl added hurriedly, with a look at Eren. 

“But I want him to be!” Eren objected playfully, and Armin felt himself begin to laugh as they fell to their usual squabbling, which ended when Mikasa smacked the all-powerful god in the over the head. He took a bite of his pear; tried, for just a moment, to be disturbed by what he was actually eating, imagining the taste of metallic blood instead of sweet juice. 

And he found, unsurprisingly, that he couldn’t manage a hint of revulsion; couldn’t summon up one ounce of reluctance. 

“I’d love to, Eren.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all again for reading~ It would simply make my day if you would leave a comment or kudos on your way out. <3    
>  This fanfic was so much fun to write~ I might very well do more with this particular "Gods and Shrines" AU at some later date (I've actually got a couple of oneshots in mind that I'm pretty sure are going to happen, one being Mikasa's first encounter with Eren). Got any suggestions? Different characters or pairings or plotlines you'd like to see explored? Feel free to let me know. :'D   
>  ... In the meantime, I'm off to fret about and slave over the next chapter of The Lost and the Caged... wish me luck, peeps. I have no clue what I'm doing. :P (That's a lie, I have a pretty good idea of what I'm doing. Now getting it on paper...)


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